


we need a little controversy

by lesbianpatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Crime, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, M/M, Murder, Violence, and I do mean hEAVY angst, oh yes and it certainly is NOT crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianpatrick/pseuds/lesbianpatrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Pete, please keep driving." Patrick whispers, voice shaking as if he's about to cry. </p>
<p>"No!" Pete exclaims, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white as angry tears start to prickle in the corners of his eyes. "You just called me at two in the fucking morning, asked me to pick you up at a fucking abandoned warehouse, came out of there covered in <em>blood</em>, and now you're asking me about the protocol for murder investigations! I'm not driving you anywhere until you tell me what the <em>fuck</em> is going on!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	we need a little controversy

**Author's Note:**

> I'msosorry
> 
> I'm just sorry
> 
> I'm fucked up
> 
> Just...yeah
> 
> Enjoy...?

Pete gets the call at exactly 2:18 am. He doesn't know it at the time, but he'll never forget that little detail. 

He wasn't asleep anyway, so he picks up the phone without checking the caller ID. "Yes?"

"Fuck." is the only answer that comes through the line, but now at least Pete knows who's calling. 

"Patrick?" He asks, frowning and sitting up in bed. He isn't sure why Patrick would be calling him this early, and he isn't sure he wants to know. 

Patrick's breathing is shaky as he speaks again. "Remember when you said you'd always pick me up from anywhere at any time if I needed it?"

"That was over a decade ago." Pete replies, but yes, he does remember. 

"Would you still do it?" Patrick asks. Something in his voice sounds like he might cry, and Pete's heart breaks right then and there. 

"Yes." Pete answers with certainty. He throws aside his blankets and pulls on a hoodie as he adds, "I always would. Where are you? What's going on?"

Patrick chokes out a single sob, and answers, "Please, just. I'll give you the address of the place I'm at, and...pick me up and don't ask questions."

Pete really wants to ask questions, because he's really worried, but he doesn't, even as hundreds of worst case scenarios bounce through his head. He just makes an affirmative noise and says, "What's your address?"

Patrick gives it to him, voice still shaking, and Pete gives the affirmative and runs out to his car. He puts the address Patrick had given him into google maps and starts driving. 

It takes thirty minutes to get there. When he does, he discovers that the address that Patrick had given him is an abandoned warehouse. He frowns. That's suspicious. 

Pete pulls out his phone and calls Patrick. When Patrick picks up, he says, "Um, I'm here. I think."

Patrick's breathing is still shaky as he asks, "Is there anyone else around?"

Pete's frown deepens. "No? Why does it matter?"

"Nothing. Sorry." Patrick murmurs, then clears his throat and says, "Right, I'm coming out", and then hangs up. 

Pete keeps his eyes trained on the building, and suddenly Patrick emerges from a rotting wooden door on the side. Pete waves a hand out his window, and Patrick sees him and breaks into a run towards his car. He opens the passenger door and throws himself into the seat, quickly buckling himself in. 

Pete takes one look at Patrick, and his eyes go wide. Patrick looks...what's a word for disheveled, weak, and terrified? Pete can't think of one. Patrick's hair is a mess, and his fedora is only loosely clinging to his head. His plain white t-shirt is torn in multiple places, and his neck is bruised all the way around in what looks like the shape of hands. And, most notably, he's splattered with _blood_. 

"Are you okay?" Pete asks, gaping at Patrick. When Patrick looks him in the eyes, he looks afraid, and Pete hates that look. 

Patrick gives him a confused look, then looks down at himself and seems to understand. He looks back up at Pete, eyes still wide, tugs at his bloodstained shirt and whispers, "It's not mine." Those words seem to scare him as much as they scare Pete. 

Pete swallows a little bit of bile rising in his throat. There's a million conclusions he could draw from this, and he doesn't like any of them. 

Without a word, he hits the gas and drives away. He gets the feeling he wants to be far from that warehouse before he starts asking any real questions. 

After they've been driving for around twenty minutes, Patrick breaks the silence. "Have you ever watched any crime dramas?"

Pete frowns at the random question. "Yeah, I actually kind of enjoy them. Why?"

"Are they accurate to real crime?" Patrick asks, eyes glued to the road ahead of him instead of Pete. It occurs to Pete that he doesn't know where he's going, or even why. 

"Usually, yes. Why?" Pete gives Patrick a quick look, then flicks his eyes back to the road. 

Patrick takes a deep, unsteady breath, then asks, "So could you tell me...in a murder investigation where the weapon was left at the scene of the crime, would they immediately test the weapon for fingerprints?"

Pete's eyes go wide, and he wrenches the steering wheel to the side, pulling them over to the side of the road, hitting the breaks hard, and yelling, "What the _fuck_?"

"Pete, please keep driving." Patrick whispers, voice shaking as if he's about to cry. 

"No!" Pete exclaims, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white as angry tears start to prickle in the corners of his eyes. "You just called me at two in the fucking morning, asked me to pick you up at a fucking abandoned warehouse, came out of there covered in _blood_ , and now you're asking me about the protocol for murder investigations! I'm not driving you anywhere until you tell me what the _fuck_ is going on!"

Pete has his suspicions, of course, but the most obvious answer is one he'd rather not believe. He'd never think Patrick would ever do... _that_.

Patrick turns to look at Pete for this first time since he'd gotten into the car, takes another shaky breath and whispers, "A...a man attacked me in a back alley...I was trying to find a faster route home...and...I always carry a pocket knife for protection, you know that, and...I..." He stops talking and breaks down into sobs, leaning forward and pushing his head against the dashboard. Between sobs, he forces out, "I never...never meant to... _god_." 

Pete inhales sharply. Fuck. He doesn't know what to say. He'd hoped that that wasn't what had happened, but obviously his hope wasn't enough. He doesn't say anything, but he pushes down the gas again. He knows where he's going now. Out of town. Away from here. He doesn't know much, but he knows he can't stay, and Patrick _definitely_ can't. 

Patrick is still sobbing into the dashboard of Pete's car, and Pete starts running scenarios through his head. He does love crime dramas, and he's going to need to use that knowledge right now. He bites his lip as he thinks things through, then says, "Alright. We'll stop at a small town and I'll get you a change of clothes. Leave the old ones in a dumpster somewhere there. I'll also ditch my car, it's too easy to track. I'm sure we can buy a used one cheap, but we need to pay in cash. Credit cards are traceable."

Patrick looks up in surprise. "What?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd rather not be arrested for murder." Pete says casually, while trying to get his car to go as fast as possible. 

Patrick winces when Pete says "murder", so Pete makes a mental note to avoid saying it again. Instead, he just says, "I drove you away from there, so if we're caught, I'm under arrest too. And I, at least, would prefer not to be caught."

Patrick nods slowly. "Right. Yeah. Not getting caught would be great."

"Glad you agree." Pete says, scanning the side of the highway for signs telling him how close he is to the nearest small town. 

They sit in silence as Pete keeps driving, the early morning air rushing past the car. Occasionally, he glances over at Patrick to make sure he's doing okay, doing his best to ignore the blood on his clothes and the look of pure fear in his eyes. 

Patrick, his best friend. Patrick, who he had previously sworn could never hurt a fly. 

Patrick, who, only about an hour ago, had killed a man.


End file.
